


got a kiss like summer in the dirty south

by whetherwoman



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Play, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Patrick is a take-charge kind of guy, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, is it massage oil? is it a food product? the world will never know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 15:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19134754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whetherwoman/pseuds/whetherwoman
Summary: It's a slow day at the store, and Patrick makes plans for the evening.





	got a kiss like summer in the dirty south

David doesn’t have a favorite way Patrick kisses him. Patrick has kissed him a lot of different ways over the last few years, a lot of very good ways—hard, soft, on the mouth, on the neck, on, uh, other places, and it’s all so good. 

But if he had a favorite, which he doesn’t, it would probably be the way Patrick kisses when he’s half awake. Patrick doesn’t stop kissing David when he’s falling asleep—more the opposite. Patrick will kiss anything, whatever’s nearest, whatever his mouth can reach. Once he kissed behind David’s ear. Once he kissed his armpit. Once David was half asleep, too tired to move closer in response to Patrick’s grumbles, and Patrick had actually flailed around until he found David’s arm and hauled it over so he could kiss David’s elbow. There were a couple weeks, right after Patrick first got his apartment, where David experimented with sleeping in weird positions just to see where he could get Patrick to kiss. 

“What—what are you,” Patrick had mumbled. 

“Nothing,” David had said, his head dangling off the side of the bed. Patrick had kissed up his shin and over his knee before falling asleep. 

Once Patrick had a cold, just bad enough that David managed to convince him to open the store a little late, and Patrick spent a solid forty minutes in bed kissing David’s shoulder blade. David had tried to keep as still as possible the whole time, tried to keep his breathing even and not wake Patrick up even a little bit, tried to contain the shivers of startled joy that ricocheted through him with every single touch of soft lips.

But usually Patrick is pretty goal-oriented in bed, and David is absolutely fine with that. Thinking back, he’s fairly sure Patrick has always been this way. At first he kept it under wraps a bit, making gentle suggestions, all “What if you put your leg over mine like this” and “Do you like it when I move my hand like that.” Very subtle. David is impressed with how much of an effort that must have been for him, in retrospect, because it turns out that Patrick plans every fucking second of every fucking… well, of every fuck. 

He’s stopped having any hesitancy in telling David about it, now. Last night he’d said, “That’s right, one hand on my cock, hold it still, just like that. Good, David, just like that. I’m gonna put my hands in your hair, you feel that? I’m gonna move your mouth up and down on me, make a noise if you like that.” Making a noise had not been a problem. “Give me your other hand, David, I’m gonna suck your fingers. I’m gonna suck your fingers like you’re sucking my cock. Good, you feel how wet those are? I got those all wet for you. Put your hand on your cock now, I’m gonna hold you up, I’m gonna move your mouth on my cock while you rub yourself off, you feel that? My spit on your cock? Okay, now, David, come now, come now.” He had, all over the bed. Patrick had cleaned up the wet spot though, afterwards, so that was okay.

But this was—this was different. This was something else, this here, right now, what he was doing now.

They were in the store, and it had been relatively slow. Not too bad for a rainy day, but there were solid breaks between customers. They’d restocked, and wiped down the windows, and now David was just kind of leaning on the counter, staring out at the rain, while Patrick fiddled with one of the hand cream displays.

“I’d like to give you a massage tonight,” Patrick says, holding up a jar and quirking an eyebrow.

“Hm, not with that you won’t,” David says lazily. “That’ll absorb right in without a trace of oiliness on my newly soft skin. Try the bergamot and white pepper oil, over to the, no, the right, my right, not that one, the taller, yeah, there.” 

Patrick finds it, finally, thanks to David’s extremely clear directions. He unstoppers the bottle and pours a drop into his hand, then rubs it between his fingers thoughtfully. David maybe bites his lower lip a little—god, those fingers, what they do to him. Patrick blinks at his hand, then looks at David. “Pepper?” he says. “Are you sure you’d want me to use this on your, uh, back?”

David coughs a little. “I have thought a lot about you using that on my, uh, back.” He hadn’t, but he absolutely is now.

“Hm,” Patrick says, and then a customer comes in and Patrick helps her choose some cheese and vegetables for a crudités platter and David rings her up and then she leaves.

“It’s just kind of warming,” Patrick says, as if they’d never been interrupted. “My hand still feels warm.”

“Does it,” David says faintly.

“Mm. Tingles a little,” Patrick says, then brings one finger up to his mouth and delicately licks the tip, the jerk. “Tastes fine, though.”

“Well. It’s. Good on salad too.” David has no idea what he’s saying, words are coming out of his mouth but he’s sure he had no intention of saying that.

Patrick nods thoughtfully. “I could see that.” He licks his finger again. David’s going to die. “I think it would taste better on your ass though.”

“Uh,” David says intelligently. 

“Yeah, I think that’s what I’d like to do tonight.” Patrick wipes his hand on his jeans, then moves over to the produce display and starts rearranging the carrots their last customer had picked through. He looks relaxed and casual. David hates him. “I’ll give you that massage, get you all relaxed. I’ll let a little oil drip down, though. I’ll hold you apart so it can drip right down over your hole, just enough so you can start to feel it warm you up. Just until you start squirming.” 

David shifts. He’s not squirming, not doing it just because Patrick said he would, he’s just… adjusting. Patrick isn’t even looking at him. 

“Then I’ll rim you,” Patrick says, like it’s nothing, like David isn’t on fucking fire. “I’ll rub that oil into your hole with my tongue, I’ll get you wet just the way you like it. I don’t want you to touch your cock, though, do you think you can do that?”

He looks at David, finally, finally, it feels like the sun coming out. “Maybe,” David says, just to see what will happen. 

Patrick keeps a straight face but his eyes are laughing, god, David loves him so much. “Then _maybe_ ,” he says, “I’ll have to find a way to keep your hands busy. Oh, hello Mrs. Johnson, come back for more soap?”

David hadn’t even heard the door open. He’s grateful for the height of the counter, not for the first time. He takes deep breaths and tells himself to wait just a minute. Just one more minute. Just until this customer leaves and Patrick can tell him more dirty, wonderful, disgustingly detailed plans.

But the rain has stopped and they have customers for the rest of the afternoon. Which is great. Customers are great. David likes customers. Most of the time. Maybe not as much today as some other days. But he gets through the afternoon, and he’s relatively polite to people, and he convinces one guy with gorgeous long curly hair (that he keeps in, shudder, a ponytail) to start using sulfate-free shampoo which he desperately needs, so it’s more or less a good afternoon.

Once Patrick locks the door, though, he doesn’t draw out any of his closing tasks. Especially when he sees Patrick ring himself up a bottle of the oil before counting the register. Within half an hour they’re walking back through town, the air around them clean and smelling of petrichor. Patrick laces his fingers through David’s, his thumb rubbing up against one of David’s rings, and David feels the tension from earlier start to ramp up again. He quickens his pace, just a touch.

When they get to the apartment he leans in and gives Patrick a quick kiss. “I’m just going to, uh, shower,” he says.

“Are you,” Patrick says, amused.

“Just real quick,” David says. “I’ll be out in just a—you won’t even know I’m gone.”

“Take your time,” Patrick says, and hauls him in with a hand on the back of his neck. He kisses David deeply, thoroughly, deliberately, as if he’s been thinking about it a long time. 

When he lets David go, David blinks at him for a long second. He can feel the smile on his face, so wide it hurts his cheeks, but he can’t seem to do anything about it.

“Go,” Patrick says, and David goes.

He is very quick, so it’s only about 45 minutes before he emerges, confident that he’s prepared for… well. Anything. He knows part of Patrick’s plan, but they did get interrupted, and he knows Patrick well enough to feel pretty sure that there is a full plan for the whole night. Patrick’s a take-charge kind of guy, and David’s willing to stay open to whatever comes up.

Whatever comes up, apparently, is spaghetti. The table is set and Patrick is just ladling the noodles into bowls. 

“Um,” David says. Does he really mean for them to eat dinner? Now?

“Good timing,” Patrick says. Apparently that is exactly what he means and he is exactly that much of an asshole. “Can you carry the salad bowl to the table?”

David does. David serves some salad onto Patrick’s plate and onto his own plate, and accepts his bowl of spaghetti from Patrick as he comes over and sits down at the table, and takes a bite of salad and is going to die. He is going to die. The salad dressing is pleasantly spicy and tastes faintly of bergamot and David is going to spontaneously combust and then Patrick won’t be grinning that terrible, terrible grin at him any more, will he. David hates everything about this. David loves this more than anything, anything he’s ever done, he loves not touching Patrick more than he’s ever loved anyone else’s touch.

David takes a deep breath, and eats his dinner.

They don’t talk much. David hopes Patrick is regretting his life choices, and deliberately licks his lips, and watches the tips of Patrick’s ears get pinker.

But in the end David caves first, because of course he does. He puts down his fork and says, “That was a lovely dinner, thank you so much, I’m done now.”

“Are you?” Patrick says innocently. “I was thinking of making brownies for dessert.”

David freezes for a full second, then says, “Okay, no,” and stands up. “I have been very patient, I am a very patient person, and you cannot ask me to choose between chocolate and sex.”

“Is that what I was doing, though?” says Patrick, and David has had enough. He grabs Patrick’s shoulder, and because Patrick isn’t an idiot and has already put his fork down and shoved his chair back, when David yanks he comes so easily that he’s backed David up the two steps to the bed before David entirely realizes what’s happening. His hands come up David’s waist, under his sweater. David can barely breathe.

“I want you to get on the bed, David,” Patrick murmurs. His mouth is almost—almost—on David’s. “I want you to take off your clothes, and get on the bed, on your front, and wait for me.”

David swallows. “Okay.” He clears his throat and tries again. “Okay.”

Patrick kisses him, once, soft, reassuring and too short.

Then he’s stepping back, and turning towards the table to get the—David can’t watch. David turns around and struggles out of his sweater and shirt and wriggles out of his pants and flings himself down on his stomach. Almost immediately he feels the bed shift as Patrick sits next to him. He turns his head just enough that he can see Patrick’s naked knee. Patrick is naked. Patrick was rushing, too.

Patrick runs a hand down his back, shoulder to hip. “Look at you,” Patrick whispers, and David turns his face into the pillow. He knows his neck still gets red when he blushes, but at least this way he can pretend, a little. Patrick leans down and kisses the back of his neck.

Then Patrick swings his leg over David and settles, heavily, right on his ass. It presses David’s half-hard cock into the mattress and the pressure startles a groan out of him. 

“Do you remember what I said I was going to do?”

David pants into the pillow and doesn’t answer. He remembers every word. 

“I’m going to make you relax.” Patrick reaches over to the bedside table, pressing David harder into the bed for a tantalizing second. 

“Are you sure about that?” David says. 

“Yup,” Patrick says, and pours a dribble of oil onto David’s back. His hands slide up David’s shoulders, then down, leaving an expanding sensation of warmth wherever they go. 

Contrary to all expectations, David feels his muscles loosen. Mentally he’s practically whining in anticipation, but the warm glide of Patrick’s hands feels so good, and the oil leaves just a hint of tingling wherever it spreads. Patrick smoothes it methodically over David’s whole back, then begins to press his thumbs in, strong and sure. God, it feels good. In spite of the occasional nudge from Patrick’s half hard cock at the top of his ass as Patrick leans forward to get a better angle, David feels himself start to go boneless. 

But that wasn’t Patrick’s plan. 

“Next time I think I’ll bend you over the table instead,” Patrick says conversationally. His hands don’t stop their rhythmic movement for a second. “That way we won’t have to leave the table. We’ll have dinner, I’ll eat you out, and then we can sit back down and have brownies.”

David almost whimpers, his hips twitching under Patrick’s weight. “Fuck—Patrick, if you keep—“ He can barely get any friction but he’s starting to think that’s not going to matter. “I’m gonna come before we even get to the good stuff.”

“Are you, though?” Patrick says. “You’re gonna come before I tell you to?”

“No,” David says, hating everything.

“That’s right,” Patrick says, completely insufferable. “But I did tell you I’d find you something else to do with your hands. So—” He slides off to the side, then hauls David’s hips up. He reaches over David, his cock rubbing a hot tease against David’s slick back, and grabs David’s right hand, pulls it up and wraps it around one of the bars at the head of the bed. Then he does the same with David’s left. David’s arms are bent, close enough that he can twist his head and mouth at his own bicep, give himself something to lick the way he likes. His ass is up and exposed and his cock aches without any contact, and the whole position sends a hot twist through David’s gut, anticipation and adrenaline and Patrick’s remembered voice echoing through his head. _I’ll rub that oil into your hole with my tongue._

“Are you ready?”

David can barely breathe, but he manages to jerk his head, once.

“I need you to tell me, David,” Patrick murmurs, his hands clutching at David’s hips. “With words. Tell me.”

Fuck, he can’t, he can’t, he— “Yes,” he chokes out.

“Yes, what?”

Oh my god. “Yes—I’m—I’m ready.” Oh god let that be enough, let that be enough for Patrick, let—

He feels the oil, warm on his lower back, then Patrick’s thumbs digging into his ass and pulling, spreading, and the oil trickles— “Ah!” he hears himself say. He didn’t mean to do that. 

“Fuck,” he hears Patrick breathe behind him, and it sends an even bigger rush of warmth through him than the oil does. Patrick never pretends to be unmoved by this, not once he’s touching David, it’s David’s favorite thing, how his voice shakes and his fingers grip roughly, every time, every single time.

And then, fuck, Patrick’s mouth is on him, hot breath and hotter tongue, spreading the oil just like he promised, pushing it—fuck—pushing it into David, just a little, just so he can feel it, and it tingles, just like Patrick promised it would, it’s just like he said, just like—

Patrick pulls away. “I never finished telling you,” he says, and David can’t hold back a whimper. “I never finished telling you what I’m gonna do to you tonight.”

David tilts his head up, as far as he can, and takes a deep breath. “Yeah?” he croaks. “Gonna surprise me?”

“Nope,” Patrick says. He circles one finger around and around David’s hole, not pushing in even a bit, just rubbing and rubbing the oil and Patrick’s spit into David’s skin. David can feel himself trembling. 

“I’m gonna make you come like this,” Patrick continues, and David tries to quiet his breath so he can hear. “I want you to come in my hand and around my tongue. I want you to feel this on your cock, do you even know, David? I’ve been sliding my cock along your back and this oil feels so—” He drops his head to pant into David’s side for a second. “I want you to feel it on your cock, just like I am. Want to rub it into your cock, into your hole, you’re gonna come so hard for me, David. And you’re gonna be loud, loud enough that I can hear you with my face buried in your ass.”

David is nodding, nodding, his hips twitching into the air, his ass clenching involuntarily under Patrick’s finger. He feels like Patrick’s voice is the only thing holding him up. 

“And once you’ve come, once you’re completely fucked out, I’m going to flip you over. You’ll lie on your back and you’ll look—god, the way you look after you come hard, David, you can’t even know. But you won’t have to do anything, you’ll lie there and I’ll fuck your mouth. I’ll feed you my cock, you’ll lie there and you’ll take my dick and you’ll make me come.” 

The rasp of his voice and the oil on David’s skin makes him shake, makes him feel like he’s a hive full of bees or a jackhammer or a firework. He twists far enough to bite down on his own arm, he has to have something in his mouth, has to. 

“Tell me, David.” Patrick leans down and bites David’s ass, hard enough to make him gasp, then laves it with his tongue, so close and too far from where David wants it. “Tell me what I’m going to do to you.”

Fuck, Patrick wants him to—David doesn’t even know if he can form coherent words, let alone—but Patrick sounds desperate, which is the only thing that makes David try. “I—you’re gonna,” he says, and swallows. “You’re gonna—rim me until I come, and then you’ll—let me suck you off.”

“Yeah, David.” Patrick bites him again. “You want me to do that? You want that?”

“Fuck, I—Patrick, so much.” David is as hoarse as if Patrick’s cock was already down his throat. “Please, let me—put your tongue, lick me, Patrick I can’t, I need—“

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes, and then his tongue is in David’s ass and David is writhing, there’s no other word for it. Patrick’s hand is on David’s cock and it’s fire, it’s going to turn David inside out, his world is Patrick’s tongue and Patrick’s hand and Patrick. He can’t control the high whining sounds coming out of his mouth, he can’t control anything, he is entirely Patrick’s and he comes and comes and comes. 

Patrick’s arm wraps around his waist just in time, because David’s limbs have sent in their regrets and declined to hold him up anymore. He’s shaking, seeing spots, his cock still twitching, and Patrick flips him over onto his back easily. God, the sheets are going to be ruined, there will be no cleaning this up. He can’t bring himself to care. 

Patrick shuffles up his body, knees on either side of his torso, and kneels up until his cock is at David’s lips. He grabs the root in one hand, the hand that was on David’s cock a minute ago, and, slowly, inexorably, slides into David’s mouth. 

David’s hips twitch up helplessly. The oil still covers his cock and it burns, it stings. He loves it so much. His mouth waters and he swallows, and swallows, until Patrick’s hips begin to jerk and David tastes bergamot and pepper and his own come. Patrick moans above him, wild and desperate, and David’s mouth is stretched so wide and he wants more. David goes to grab Patrick and pull him in, and only then realizes his hands are still wrapped around the bars at the headboard, his wrists crossed over each other. Fuck. Fuck. He leaves them there and just mouths at Patrick’s cock, sucking as hard as he can from this angle, lifting his head until his lips meet Patrick’s hand. Patrick wraps his other hand around the back of David’s head and lifts him up just enough, angles him perfectly, and David whines around him and Patrick gives it to him, slides his cock in and out of David’s throat and shouts and fills David’s mouth with his come. 

Patrick collapses next to David, his head landing next to David’s arm, still up over his head. David stares at the ceiling. “We should shower,” he says. His voice sounds hoarse. He carefully unpeels one hand from around the bars, then the other.

“Mmph,” Patrick says.

“Maybe in a little while,” David says. He can’t even look at Patrick. His whole body feels like a bell that was just rung.

“Mmph,” Patrick says again, and moves his head just enough that he can mouth at the underside of David’s arm.

David closes his eyes. Patrick’s mouth is so soft and slow on his tender skin. He is sore, and sticky, and actually he really wants those brownies, but he’s just gonna—lie here. A bit longer. Just a bit longer, while Patrick kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge huge thank you to BashfulClam and cinnaluminum for beta reading.
> 
> Title is from That Boy by Carsie Blanton. Guess I'm on a Carsie kick for titles right now, but her songs are seriously sexy, you can't blame me.


End file.
